Random Drabble
Title: Untitled
Pairing: GaaNaru (just friendship or more is undecided at this point...)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Naruto and its characters are the property of Masashi Kishimoto.
Random thing that was stuck in my head.
So, I haven't posted in a while and things have been a bit quiet here, so I figured why not!?
Right now it's just Gaara... but there is going to be a new addition to his floor. A certain blonde boy is going to be in the recreation room.
This, if finished, will be a Gaara/Naruto. But for now I'm just posting it to see what everyone thinks. It was a bit of a self challenge. I wanted to see if I could write something in present tense and make it work. Also I wanted to see if I could write an asylum fic without it sounding like every other asylum fic I've ever read.
Either way, the back story is this (for now)...
Gaara has been in the asylum since he was eleven. He's... I'll say about 17ish in the story. So he knows all the staff pretty well. (Even if he refuses to acknowledge certain people) Also, if it seems a bit hard to follow that's because he's heavily medicated and it's from his perspective.
If I do continue it I doubt it will be in present tense. Personally I think present tense is harder to write and read.
Hope you guys enjoy. ^_^
__________________________________________
A slim redheaded boy sits quietly in a large marble tub. There is a clock... and it’s ticking. And ticking and ticking.
There is also a man. The boy knows the man so it’s not too bad. But why dose he have to sit so close to the tub? He stares at the muted yellow walls. He can hear the clock but he can’t see it. If he weren’t distracted by the man staring at him he might have thought to look behind him. Not that it would have helped, of course. The clock he hears ticking is actually down the hall. He passed it on the way to the washroom.
“Gaara, you need to clean all the paint off if you want to join everyone for recreation.” Gaara hears him and brushes his wet hand over his shoulder sluggishly. He doesn't like the way the man talks. His voice acts clam but he's built like a body guard. The man is just a grunt they taught to talk quietly...
The paint from his shoulder smears and drips down on to his chest. Gaara doesn’t particularly care if he’s allowed to rec. But he does like to be clean. Leaning against the back of the tub he watches the newly submerged paint float away from his body. He smiles. Paint is so beautiful, and so is water. So warm. He remembered when the water was cold. The ice cubes. He’s glad the water is warm now. Glad the paint is falling off his body to play on top of the water. Swirling around and ‘round.
He can feel the water rise to his chin. His body feels heavy even with the paint flowing away. But the water is warm and he doesn’t mind.
“Gaara?” He’s watching the paint but he doesn’t want to hear the mans 'fake' voice. It’s faint but still there. So he closes his eyes. “Gaara.” He hears again but now the voice is very far away.
‘He must have left,’ the boy thinks casually. The water is still rising higher. Everything is calm and gentle. He thinks his hair might be getting wet, but he’s not sure. The quiet takes him over and the clock finally stops ticking...
Suddenly there are hands on him. He doesn’t like being touched. He struggles and yells but can’t breath. Something is sucking into his throat as he trys to protest. But what ever it is falls away with the rest of the calm warm water. Leaving him standing in the tub with the man’s hands under his armpits.
“Gaara are you alrig-” Gaara shoves the terrible man away from him. Not caring that the man hits the ground with a loud thud. The water is frantic. His clam beautiful water is moving all over the place! He can see and feel it below his knees. It’s splashing, and angry, and SPILLING OUT! It’s trying to get out of the tub! He can see it! The puddles on the ground! He wants to grab the water. To cup it back in. but if he moves it will make it worse. So he tries to clam his heart. He stands as still as he can, ignoring the cold air hitting his naked body. It was a horrible feeling.
Why did that idiot have to touch him? His oafish hands made the water desert him! The man ruined everything! He chances a glance down at the water hoping it will be calmer. It is but now seemed to be sulking. Lulling back and forth. Before he can try to remedy the situation something catches his eye.
There is black running down his chest. It looks like blood. Gaara knows some how the liquid is coming from his face. His thoughts are confirmed when his fingers, having just brushed against his cheek, comes back splotched in black.
“What happened?” A female voice asks the room. Foolish to ask a room anything Gaara thinks. They can’t talk. But then again she could be crazy sometimes.
“Gaara?” The female voice questions. “Why did you push Mr. Derix?”
“Is it blood?’ Gaara asks her holding out the black covered finger tips. Her face sinks into a look of a woman who’s given in too many times.
“No Gaara, that’s the paint from earlier.”
“Are you sure?” He watches her pull a washcloth out of her apron and dip it in the water.
“Yes.” She response, then quickly begins to wipe his face clean. Gaara stands still for her. He knows she isn’t someone to argue with.
_____________
Twenty minutes later the redhead is following the same woman down a short hallway. He feels stale. The all to familiar itch seeps into his body. It happens every time the medication starts wearing off. It’s uncomfortable but Gaara has come to enjoy the hour or so before the medication is redistributed. In those hours he feels more alive. More like a real person. He stops to stare in the administration window out side the commons. The signs aren’t blurring together and the sight of the people behind the counter aren’t as infuriating.
“Gaara? Let’s go inside. It’s been a few days since they’ve seen you. I’m sure Margo will be happy.” The woman moves to pull at his arm but stops an inch or two away.
“I want new paints.” he says, glaring at the empty space where her hand almost touched him. The woman sighs.
“Gaara, you don’t need new paints.”
“I don’t want children's paints. I want real color. I‘m not a child.”
“Gaara they are the same paints you’ve always had. I just forgot to take the labels off before bringing them to you. Why is this suddenly so important to you? You used them this morning remember?” Crossing his arms stubbornly he replies.
“Yes I remember. It’s different now… My father pays you enough. All I want is real paint.” He can see her body tense. He knows he went too far. He doesn’t know whether it is the medication wearing off or the fact that he honestly doesn’t care, but he will gladly take what ever tongue lashing she’s plotting if it gets him what he wants.
“Your father pays for your medication, food, and your room. We provide everything else. So you will use what ever paints we see fit. Besides it’s the best nontoxic paint there is. I’ve already looked into it.”
“Are you suggesting I eat paint?” He cringes internally. He would never eat paint! That would be a waste! Not to mention a terribly horrendous act against his morals on a physical and physiological level. He opens his mouth to explain how stupid she is if she honestly thinks he would do such a thing… but she cuts him off,
“Do you need your medication early? Is that why you're so content to stare at the window rather than go in the room?” Gaara’s eyes narrow. The conversation stops abruptly as he follows her into the room.
Pairing: GaaNaru (just friendship or more is undecided at this point...)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Naruto and its characters are the property of Masashi Kishimoto.
Random thing that was stuck in my head.
So, I haven't posted in a while and things have been a bit quiet here, so I figured why not!?
Right now it's just Gaara... but there is going to be a new addition to his floor. A certain blonde boy is going to be in the recreation room.
This, if finished, will be a Gaara/Naruto. But for now I'm just posting it to see what everyone thinks. It was a bit of a self challenge. I wanted to see if I could write something in present tense and make it work. Also I wanted to see if I could write an asylum fic without it sounding like every other asylum fic I've ever read.
Either way, the back story is this (for now)...
Gaara has been in the asylum since he was eleven. He's... I'll say about 17ish in the story. So he knows all the staff pretty well. (Even if he refuses to acknowledge certain people) Also, if it seems a bit hard to follow that's because he's heavily medicated and it's from his perspective.
If I do continue it I doubt it will be in present tense. Personally I think present tense is harder to write and read.
Hope you guys enjoy. ^_^
__________________________________________
A slim redheaded boy sits quietly in a large marble tub. There is a clock... and it’s ticking. And ticking and ticking.
There is also a man. The boy knows the man so it’s not too bad. But why dose he have to sit so close to the tub? He stares at the muted yellow walls. He can hear the clock but he can’t see it. If he weren’t distracted by the man staring at him he might have thought to look behind him. Not that it would have helped, of course. The clock he hears ticking is actually down the hall. He passed it on the way to the washroom.
“Gaara, you need to clean all the paint off if you want to join everyone for recreation.” Gaara hears him and brushes his wet hand over his shoulder sluggishly. He doesn't like the way the man talks. His voice acts clam but he's built like a body guard. The man is just a grunt they taught to talk quietly...
The paint from his shoulder smears and drips down on to his chest. Gaara doesn’t particularly care if he’s allowed to rec. But he does like to be clean. Leaning against the back of the tub he watches the newly submerged paint float away from his body. He smiles. Paint is so beautiful, and so is water. So warm. He remembered when the water was cold. The ice cubes. He’s glad the water is warm now. Glad the paint is falling off his body to play on top of the water. Swirling around and ‘round.
He can feel the water rise to his chin. His body feels heavy even with the paint flowing away. But the water is warm and he doesn’t mind.
“Gaara?” He’s watching the paint but he doesn’t want to hear the mans 'fake' voice. It’s faint but still there. So he closes his eyes. “Gaara.” He hears again but now the voice is very far away.
‘He must have left,’ the boy thinks casually. The water is still rising higher. Everything is calm and gentle. He thinks his hair might be getting wet, but he’s not sure. The quiet takes him over and the clock finally stops ticking...
Suddenly there are hands on him. He doesn’t like being touched. He struggles and yells but can’t breath. Something is sucking into his throat as he trys to protest. But what ever it is falls away with the rest of the calm warm water. Leaving him standing in the tub with the man’s hands under his armpits.
“Gaara are you alrig-” Gaara shoves the terrible man away from him. Not caring that the man hits the ground with a loud thud. The water is frantic. His clam beautiful water is moving all over the place! He can see and feel it below his knees. It’s splashing, and angry, and SPILLING OUT! It’s trying to get out of the tub! He can see it! The puddles on the ground! He wants to grab the water. To cup it back in. but if he moves it will make it worse. So he tries to clam his heart. He stands as still as he can, ignoring the cold air hitting his naked body. It was a horrible feeling.
Why did that idiot have to touch him? His oafish hands made the water desert him! The man ruined everything! He chances a glance down at the water hoping it will be calmer. It is but now seemed to be sulking. Lulling back and forth. Before he can try to remedy the situation something catches his eye.
There is black running down his chest. It looks like blood. Gaara knows some how the liquid is coming from his face. His thoughts are confirmed when his fingers, having just brushed against his cheek, comes back splotched in black.
“What happened?” A female voice asks the room. Foolish to ask a room anything Gaara thinks. They can’t talk. But then again she could be crazy sometimes.
“Gaara?” The female voice questions. “Why did you push Mr. Derix?”
“Is it blood?’ Gaara asks her holding out the black covered finger tips. Her face sinks into a look of a woman who’s given in too many times.
“No Gaara, that’s the paint from earlier.”
“Are you sure?” He watches her pull a washcloth out of her apron and dip it in the water.
“Yes.” She response, then quickly begins to wipe his face clean. Gaara stands still for her. He knows she isn’t someone to argue with.
_____________
Twenty minutes later the redhead is following the same woman down a short hallway. He feels stale. The all to familiar itch seeps into his body. It happens every time the medication starts wearing off. It’s uncomfortable but Gaara has come to enjoy the hour or so before the medication is redistributed. In those hours he feels more alive. More like a real person. He stops to stare in the administration window out side the commons. The signs aren’t blurring together and the sight of the people behind the counter aren’t as infuriating.
“Gaara? Let’s go inside. It’s been a few days since they’ve seen you. I’m sure Margo will be happy.” The woman moves to pull at his arm but stops an inch or two away.
“I want new paints.” he says, glaring at the empty space where her hand almost touched him. The woman sighs.
“Gaara, you don’t need new paints.”
“I don’t want children's paints. I want real color. I‘m not a child.”
“Gaara they are the same paints you’ve always had. I just forgot to take the labels off before bringing them to you. Why is this suddenly so important to you? You used them this morning remember?” Crossing his arms stubbornly he replies.
“Yes I remember. It’s different now… My father pays you enough. All I want is real paint.” He can see her body tense. He knows he went too far. He doesn’t know whether it is the medication wearing off or the fact that he honestly doesn’t care, but he will gladly take what ever tongue lashing she’s plotting if it gets him what he wants.
“Your father pays for your medication, food, and your room. We provide everything else. So you will use what ever paints we see fit. Besides it’s the best nontoxic paint there is. I’ve already looked into it.”
“Are you suggesting I eat paint?” He cringes internally. He would never eat paint! That would be a waste! Not to mention a terribly horrendous act against his morals on a physical and physiological level. He opens his mouth to explain how stupid she is if she honestly thinks he would do such a thing… but she cuts him off,
“Do you need your medication early? Is that why you're so content to stare at the window rather than go in the room?” Gaara’s eyes narrow. The conversation stops abruptly as he follows her into the room.